The Ministry Of Availability

Intentions Don't Mean Productivity.

I intended to write a series on anxiety many months ago. I wrote three posts.


I intended to blog regularly this year. It’s the end of February; this is post number two.


I intended to . . . do. so. many. things.


Yet they go undone; time marches on.

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Life happens. Needs arise. Illness imposes. (My hubby was overcome with the flu while I was away in Arizona. This meant I needed to wash bedding and disinfect all the things — on top of catching up from being gone for five days.)


Are Plans Hijacked Or Simply Rerouted?

I receive a text: “Are you available?” Someone dear to me needs encouragement . . . and prayer.


I’m available.


I remind her of God’s promises. I pray His will with her. I speak truth that sets her free.


Her spirit lifts. (Is anything more valuable than giving light to one being swallowed by the dark?)

After spoken words, I hear joy. Her heart’s silent-release saying, “I’m not alone in all this pain.”


Before hanging up, I also hear an ache, “Everyone is so busy.”


What I think I hear is, “I want people to have more time for me.”


Or maybe, “I feel bad needing you.”


I ache too.

I want to do more. But . . . I know . . .

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“God is with her,” I reassure myself. (God is God and I am not. Only He can be what she needs.)


Empty Nest Is Not Synonomys With Freedom -- Or Is It?

I remember something I said many times, “I have the ministry of availability.” 


Words might be unwritten. Hashtag: #blogfail . . . but they are not unspoken in prayer with one precious soul feeling overwhelmed by the darkness closing in on her life.


Have I lifted a soul to Jesus today?


Have I refreshed a discouraged heart?


Have I offered a dish of hope for one hungry?


 The Power Of Loving One

I will not regret my failed intentions. No. My times are in His hands. I am His.


My words may not land here in print as often or as beautifully as I’d hope . . .


but I know I’ve spoken words that have been a torch for one seeking her way through the darkness.

 

And when her torch is lit, where might she take the light?


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